White corset laced so tight my tits almost spill, red tutu flared and thigh-high glossy boots that reflect every flicker of the fireplace. My clown face is cracked porcelain with a crimson smile sliced ear-to-ear. Watch me dangle a long white cigarette while the flames crawl up the chimney. Each slow inhale makes the cherry glow like a demon’s iris; each slow exhale is a silky ribbon of smoke blown straight into your worthless face. “Breathe it in, freak. That’s the closest you’ll ever get to touching me.” Count the ashes as they fall, loser. One for every pathetic stroke you wish you could take. Two for every tear you’ll cry when you realize you’re nothing but furniture. By the final minute my cig is nothing but a burning filter and you, my open mouthed human ashtray, will swallow every last ember while the clown princess laughs, boots on your chest, smoke spiralling into the night. Ready to gag for me, ash-slave?
